Just By Chance
by PeacockBlue
Summary: Not the best of names, I know, but I may change it later on. Please review, cause I love constructive criticism. Starting off between Brisingr and Inheritance. Enjoy! Currently on hiatus due to exams.
1. An Unusual Meeting

Captain's log stardate 12345.6

_We have not been in the Delta Quadrant for some time now without having a week that is lacking in some kind of life-threatening situation. The crew's morale has been sinking steadily. It doesn't help that today we have had some issues with the warp core, putting our journey back some weeks while we are making repairs. We are currently passing through a system with only one planet capable of sustaining life. Initial scans show it to be fairly primitive in culture; no indications of any form of industry or planet-wide travel. Further scans are being performed as I speak. As may be expected, many crewmembers are showing excitement and I am considering whether I should take an away team to the surface._

Captain Kathryn Janeway sighed as she stood up in her ready room in response to a beeping at her door.

"Come in," she said.

Seven of Nine, a rehabilitated Borg drone, strode into the room. The captain assumed it was because the scans had been finished. She stood, facing Janeway, and clasped her hands behind her back in preparation of giving her report.

"I have completed the more in depth scans of the planet. They show that it is a -"

"Thank you, Seven," Janeway cut her off. Already she was planning the away team. She'd leave Chakotay, her first officer, in charge of her ship and take Tuvok, her security officer as well as Tom Paris. The rest of the team could be made up later. "Are there any possible threats to Voyager or to any away teams that may be sent down?" she inquired.

"None that I could locate, Captain, and scans have informed me that the atmosphere is similar in make-up to that of Earth."

"Thank you. On your way out, would you inform Chakotay that I would like to see him?" the ex-drone nodded and walked purposefully out.

The siege of Feinster was, at long last, over. Eragon Shadeslayer, the last free Rider in Alagaesia, meandered through the Varden's camp, mourning the loss of his and his dragon's teacher Oromis. The state of Oromis' dragon, named Glaedr, was increasing his despair for, although his body had been slain over Gil'ead, his mind lived on in his Eldunari. Eragon closed his eyes, tears escaping through the lids as he recalled the sense of loss and the anguish that Glaedr had felt and that he had shared through the dragon's heart of hearts. Alone, and in the dark. The golden dragon had spent his entire life as part of another being. To have that link broken, to have half of your _being_ ripped away… Eragon turned the thought away, for the first time taking note of his surroundings. He was still in the Varden's encampment, but he had somehow managed to reach the now-abandoned practice grounds from his tent on the furthest side of the camp. He looked around, wondering how he could have walked all that way without noticing and then walked across to the edge and sat down on a log, closing his eyes.

_Little one. _It was the partner of his heart and soul, Saphira, her voice full of sympathy. How could he bear it if she were torn away from him? How could he continue to live? To _be_? He fully opened his mind to her, merging their beings, thankful for every _second_ he had with her. Their grief bounced between them, each taking comfort in the fact that the other was near and still there, consoling each other with mere presence, for each knew that their other half cared about nothing more than the happiness and well-being of their partner.

Drawn out of his sorrow by his dragon's presence, he thanked her for preventing him from wallowing in grief for the loss of their teachers. Reducing the contact to a thin thread, he opened his eyes again, straightened up from his hunched over position and began to slowly make his way back to his tent, and to his dragon.

All of a sudden, there was a bright flash that seemed slightly blue and a group of seven people were stood a little over three hundred feet away. Eragon reinforced his strength from the flawless diamonds in the belt of Beloth the Wise and loped over towards them with elvish grace and silence, his bow held ready and an arrow nocked and prepared himself to call on his magic if needed.

He flicked his mind over to the group, starting with the woman who so resembled Katrina, the love of his cousin. She knew nothing of shielding and he flipped through her memories quickly. He repeated the process with the rest of the group, pausing at the minds of a dark haired woman with an odd ridged pattern on her forehead, full of anger at the universe, a tall blond human woman, who noticed his presence in her head, but did not realise what it was. Her mind was like nothing Eragon had ever seen before. It was cold, logical and there were many memories of a hunger so vast it could never be filled. The cold hive mind of these Borg sent shivers down his back. The closest thing he had felt to that before was in the mind of Durza, a Shade he had – barely – defeated at the famed battle of Farthen Dur. The last mind he touched was that of a dark-skinned male. Even at this distance Eragon, with his enhanced vision, could see the pointed ears and slanted facial features that marked an elf. He slammed into fairly good barriers, but they were not as solid as the weakest of elven minds' protections. He got through them easily, never moving a pace closer to the group until he had established as to whether they were a threat either to him, or to his liege lord Nasuada, leader of the Varden.

He sensed that the dark-skinned Vulcan – no elf, then – was about to warn his Captain, the red-haired woman he had 'interrogated' first, and immobilised him with a flick of his will. Although this Tuvok attempted to fight, the young Rider's strength was far greater.

He made his way over to the group, sending mental alerts to Saphira, Arya and the twelve elven spellcasters sent by Islanzadi to protect both him and Saphira. They were facing away from him and Eragon ensured that they would not turn by gently dissuading them whenever a member thought of it. He ensured the group's suspicions would not be raised by having the dark-skinned Vulcan reply to the questions as he normally would.

_Hurry, and be silent as you approach. Bring your bows. Saphira, you only come near when I give the signal._ He terminated contact with the approaching backup and re-applied his attention to the group ahead of him, now holding out metallic boxes with flashing lights that they were sweeping the area in front of them with. They were noisily conversing, his finely tuned hearing picking up the accent of the western Empire from around Tierm, the first city he had ever seen. The topic of conversation was the surrounding area, an unremarkable stretch of plain and untended farmland.

The spellcasters, accompanied by Arya, arrived. He opened his mind to them and filled them in on the situation.

_I have informed Nasuada_, Arya told him, _She has prepared the Nighthawks to assist us should we need it. She also wishes to speak with their leader, _she concluded.

Eragon released the Vulcan who immediately turned to his captain and began to speak in an unemotional tone, undoubtedly warning her of the threat. They drew their weapons, but it was too late. Arrows nocked and bows at full draw, the elves closed in on the Voyager crew members.

"Drop your weapons!" Eragon ordered them. They immediately complied and all of the phasers hit the packed earth of the practice grounds. He motioned to one of the spellcasters to collect them. "Keep your hands where I can see them and follow us. Do not make any attempt to contact your ship. Do not run, for we are faster than you could ever be and you will only get hurt. Comply with all instructions and you may be released." The time spent in the blonde woman's mind had affected him. He would not have phrased his orders like that had he been fully himself. Arya noticed the variation of his words and shot a questioning glance at him. He shook his head, mouthing 'I'm fine' at her. He would explain more fully later on.

They reached Nasuada's crimson pavilion, where they waited to be announced to the formidable leader. They entered, pushing the seven strangers through the flap.


	2. The Leaders Meet

Nasuada was sitting in her solid wooden chair and looked up as the group of twenty-one walked in. she returned her attention to reading the report she held in her hand and then asked half of the spellcasters to leave. Among those that stayed was Blodhgarm, their leader. His appearance was unsettling to those who were unused to it, and his enticing scent would help to loosen the tongues of the women in the group, she hoped. She greeted them.

"As you must be aware, I am Lady Nasuada, leader of the Varden. Which of you is the leader of your group?"

Janeway stepped forward. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the _Voyager_. Why am I and my crew being held captive? What gives you the right to do this?" she demanded. Janeway had been having a more stressful day than was usual on an away mission, so she had lost much of her diplomatic abilities. First she was captured by what seemed to be Vulcans, then she and her crew were paraded through an army's camp, she had encountered her first urgal, although she did not know what they were, and now the presence of this feline-looking humanoid was making her feel… odd, almost like she was melting at the knees. He wore only a loincloth and the rest of his body was covered with blue-hued hair. On his face, it was flat and very short; only the colour showed its presence. A ruff stuck out between his shoulder blades and continued down his back. Small tufts stuck out from the tips of his pointed ears and when he smiled, he showed canines that were more pointed than is normal. His scent, though! It was clearly male, and very much so. It took all of her quite admirable self-control not to blush and look away.

"What are you?" asked Eragon, walking across the pavilion to stand by his liegelord "I have never before seen somebody with forehead ridges like yours," he motioned to B'Elanna, "A human with metal on their face akin to this" waving at Seven, then looking pointedly at Tuvok as he finished with "Or such a logical, ordered mind concealing such strong, powerful emotions. And your clothing is… strange to me. I have never seen the like. It would appear to be a uniform, but it is not one that I am familiar with. The fabric, too, looks unusual."

The team was startled by the young Rider's openness about his powers. They recalled the time they had passed through an area in space where it was illegal to be a mind reader and where they had saved many innocents from imprisonment. Clearly there were no such restrictions here, although the Captain was feeling some apprehension about the evident strength of this man's mental abilities and the ease with which he flitted from mind to mind. Not even Kes – she stopped the thought before it could go anywhere. "Well," she began, "B'Elanna has ridges because that is a defining characteristic of her species." She went on to explain the differences that Eragon had picked out with each of the three, explaining about the Borg and the rigorous training the Vulcan children went through in order to develop their logical thinking and their control over their emotions.

At that, one of the elven spellcasters interrupted her "You mean to say that these poor children are robbed of their childhood, of their feelings, in the name of logic? What kind of society would do that to the most precious of gifts?" his burst of outrage was stopped when Arya shot a *look* at him.

"You would be well advised to hold your tongue, for not all races hold their young ones in as high esteem as we do." She reprimanded him.

He nodded his acknowledgment and took a pace back, returning to his original stance by the tent wall.

The Voyager crew members did not know how to react to the elf's impassioned speech and his superior's sharp admonishment, so they brushed it away and focused back onto the dark-skinned rebel leader in front of them.

"I shall have Eragon search your minds in full depth to ascertain whether you bear us any ill will, or if you are allied with Galbatorix and the Empire." She decided. "There is no way to avoid this, for I have been reliably informed that the only one of you who knows how to shield cannot do this with the required strength to hold my vassal off." At Nasuada's signal, Eragon began to sift through the memories of each of the away team, spending a good two minutes on each to ensure he left nothing uncovered. Remembering how painful the now-dead Twins had made the same process, he did his best to be gentle, but still the search elicited some winces, especially from the dark-haired human he searched, Harry Kim, he discovered from his examination.

"My lady," he started his report to his liege lord, "they bear us no ill will, they are searching merely for some recuperation from the many hardships they have been forced to go through since being taken from their home. They saw us from above, and came down here to take a rest from the ship. This is a band of scouts sent ahead in order to ascertain whether it is safe for them to take some shore leave."

"I must offer my full apologies, Captain," Nasuada smiled, extending her hand to Janeway and motioned for the elves to stand down. "I would like to be the first to welcome you to the Varden's camp and to offer our hospitality to any of your crew members who would like to visit and escape from the stresses of life. They are welcomed to stay here for as long as they wish, but I must warn you; we are having a problem with supplies, as is usual in any prolonged conflict, so any contributions you may have would be gratefully accepted."

Despite the difference of their ages, the two formidable leaders got along like a house on fire. Before long, they were talking to each other as if they were old friends who had known each other for their entire lives. Janeway had contacted her ship with the good news that they were welcome to spend some time on shore leave at the Varden, and this was greeted with great excitement. Soon, half the crew had transported down to Alagaesia.

Before the influx of strangers, Nasuada made a speech to the Varden about the new arrivals, and requested that her loyal followers aid the Voyager crew as far as possible. She also laid some ground rules for the visitors. These mainly involved food and rationing.

As the first group beamed down, including Chakotay, they were invited to use the practice grounds as needed and informed that, should they need to, they could borrow weapons to get familiar with during their stay. All members recovering on the planet were warned that the Varden would soon be moving to Belatona, for that was the city next on the list.

Tom Paris strolled into the armourers alongside his friend Harry Kim. Now in their casual wear, both had been members of the original away team that had started this. Both men had grins so wide that their heads were in danger of being split in two. How many times had they played with swords in the holodeck? And now, they had the chance to live that dream.

"How can I help you?" the scruffy man grunted. He was wearing ox-hide armour that, in the current humidity, gave off a foul stench that was offensive to the nose. A large two-handed blade was slung over his back, the hilt projecting above his right shoulder. He saw the two of them, the difference in their posture, their aura of self-assuredness that every other Starfleet member he had seen held and groaned. "Not another request for weapons. I barely have time to re-arm the Varden's fighting force as it is! Now I get you, you _amateurs_ asking to play around with my arms as if they were toys! Enough, I say! Enough! But who am I to question the judgement of our almighty, gracious" etcetera, growing more and more sarcastic in tone as he continued, "leader? Very well. Describe to me the weapon you seek."

Tom then went on to describe his and his friend's requests. The armourer, seeing that these two knew what they were talking about, gradually objected less, until they were on almost friendly terms. The two men left the tent loaded down with swords, knives, bows and arrows, smiling at each other in a vaguely conspiratorial manner.

As they entered the training grounds, their attention was caught by a display of grace, speed, skill and deadliness. Eragon was sparring with Arya, demonstrating some things to a few of the crew standing around in awe of the famed Rider. The other rest of the crew on the practice grounds were gathered around Lang, a hard, battle-scarred instructor of the art of swordplay. He too was demonstrating, but more slowly and on a much lower level than the two elvish warriors, who had drawn an admiring crowd around them, and not only of Voyager crew. Tom and Harry were headed to the archery practice range first, where a lesson in the correct use of a bow was soon to take place.

In her pavilion, Nasuada smiled to herself. The plan was working perfectly. Already the Voyager members were learning how to fight with her land's weapons and were integrating well with the warriors of the Varden. Later that day, she and captain to would take a stroll and Nasuada was planning to gently prod her into making an alliance with the Varden. It wouldn't hurt if Eragon came too, or another spellcaster, in order to help push said captain's point of view closer to her own. He had already confirmed to her that very few members could shield their thoughts and that even fewer could detect another's presence in their minds. She would now attempt to use that fact to her advantage. Maybe Elva could help get her point across to the stubborn Janeway. The girl's gift with the knowledge of which words to use was invaluable to her in her everyday statesmanship. The Trial of Long Knives was just one example amongst many.

One of the urgals on duty outside her tent bellowed. "Captain Janeway requests an audience," Nasuada smiled and invited her in, already planning the route they would take.

Straightening her desk, Nasuada greeted Janeway, stood and strode out of her tent. The Nighthawks, her elite mixed group of bodyguards, followed at a discrete distance. Eragon had agreed to meet her outside of the healing tent. Steering the conversation skilfully, yet subtly, Nasuada began to speak of the hardships faced by the Varden, chief among them being a lack of recruits, allies and rations.

"Eragon!" Nasuada called to him, "have you thought more on what we discussed last time we spoke?"

"Aye," he responded. "It goes against my better judgement, but I shall do it." ignoring Janeway's mystified look, she smiled and invited him to join their stroll.

"Very well, but first I wish to help as far as possible here," he said, gesturing at the tent that housed the sick and wounded. Nasuada agreed that he could do so, as long as he did not exhaust himself.

Stepping through the flap, the first thing that captain Janeway noticed was the sheer heat. It hit her in the face as she entered, brushing away what little comfort she had. The next thing was the stench. It was awful. Adjusting to the gloom, she looked around. What she saw shocked her.

**Please review, I always look forwards to seeing what the readers think. Also, if you have any ideas for what could happen next, I'd love to hear them! **

**Review button is very handy – just here!**

**V**


	3. An Unpleasant Task

All around her were low beds, each one holding an injured or sick person. The injuries were varied; they ranged from a man sitting in a chair waiting for a broken finger to be set to a soldier with all of his limbs missing and a rough bandage tied over his eyes. Eragon stopped one of the bustling healers rushing around and began to ask questions about this severely injured man. Having received the answers he was searching for, he drifted off to another bed across the aisle and began to mutter something. What happened next gave Janeway a shock. She could see the man's multiple lacerations cleaning and closing up before her eyes and there wasn't a medical device in sight.

_Somehow_, she thought, _these people have the ability to heal with their psychic abilities_. She immediately resolved to call down the Doctor to see what he would make of it, as well as bringing some evidently much-needed supplies to help with the healing. Although they were not as well stocked as she would like, _Voyager _could manage to do without her chief medical officer for a while. Besides, he had been planning to come down here for shore leave anyway and, if he saw this field hospital, he would have a fit and probably insist on the medical supplies himself. She looked around in slight distaste at the injured soldiers and the diseased wives and children. She looked around; the youngest soldier she could see was only about fifteen. He had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and his left leg was lying on top of the covers supported and straightened by a splint. The medical care here was medieval in standard.

Nasuada stood watching her shock in the hot, stuffy tent that smelled of rotting flesh from the most unlucky of the men, the various scents caused when men who had taken arrows to the guts lost control of their bowels and the universal stench of blood. She herself had found it hard to enter the medical tent, but had steeled herself to do so without any outward display of disgust.

The trio finished their tour of the tent, Eragon pausing at the end to talk to the blinded man without any limbs. From the way the nurses here reacted, it was no uncommon thing.

"Shadeslayer," one of the many healers cautiously approached him, using his title with the greatest respect and deference. "There is a man here who is close to dying. Unless you help him, he will pass into the void."

_Pass into the void?_ Janeway thought, confused at their term for death. These people were evidently more advanced than hers had been when they had shared the same stage of development that was visible now. She was surprised that there was no mention of a heaven or some other afterlife. _Although, _she thought, _it may have something to do with their enhanced psychic abilities._ The trio hurriedly made their way down to the end of the tent where the operation area had been divided off from the main tent by a grubby creamy-white curtain.

"What is wrong with him?" Eragon asked the healer.

The healer, a very weak magic user who specialised in healing only because he was too powerless for the battlefield, gave them a run-down of the man's symptoms. As they pushed past the curtain being held up and away from the cloth wall by the healer, the Starfleet captain took in a shocked breath and then instantly regretted it. The air was thick and heavy with the stench of decay and the sharp metallic tang of blood, both fresh and old. There were rusty bloodstains on the walls by a few of the beds where operations had evidently gone very wrong or where the occupants had been severely wounded. It was not a sight that inspired confidence in their medical abilities. They were waved over to one particular bed; the man on it was pale, almost white, with blood loss and one arm had been almost entirely taken over with gangrene, hence that smell of rotting meat. Eragon's face crumpled in a wince as he say the level of damage. The captain watched curiously as his face went blank, hiding the pain he felt as he mentally examined the patient.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears in his eyes as he bent down to the dying man's head. He picked up the undamaged hand and gripped it tightly, but so tight that it would hurt him. "There's nothing I can do for you except take away the pain." His face was calm but his eyes betrayed the mental anguish he was going through from feeling the man's suffering and how inadequate he felt at being able to offer only the slightest of comforts. The Rider turned his head to face the healer who had led them over and asked for a stool to be brought over. The healer bowed and rushed off to do his bidding, returning in record time. Eragon moved the three-legged stool up to the head of the bed and sat down, picking up the no-longer suffering man's hand and supporting his back as he moved the pillow so he could sit up. Janeway found herself moved by the compassion shown by the young man – only in his teens, still – as he sat by the dying man's bed.

It did not take long for the blood poisoning to take effect. Eragon bowed his head and murmured "He's gone," to no-one in particular. He was thinking about the man, one of his cousin's best friends at the Varden. Roran had told him much of the man's bravery and his lack of hesitation when it came to engaging Galbatorix's troops. In the last raid that Roran's group had made, this man had saved his cousin at the cost of his own health. Eragon had not known the man well, but he knew that he would find it difficult to inform Roran of his death. He had never found death easy to come to terms with, not the deaths of men; he still did not have a strong fondness for urgals, and time had not made it any easier and nor had the fact that he had been mentally connected with the man as he lost the final part of his energy that had been helping him to cling to the very edge of life.

Stiffly, he stood and, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, stiffened his resolve. He knew from his first meeting with the strange travellers' leader that she did not know when her mind was being touched by another's. He knew, as did Nasuada, that these people would be the best way to avoid this happening again. He had no wish to see his cousin's face crumple in sadness when he learned of another friend's death and, from what he had seen of these star sailors' tools, they had formidable weapons and, although they had very limited, or no magic, they could perform feats worthy of the greatest spellcaster.

He gently reached out with his mind and brushed Janeway's subconscious mind, delicately implanting the urge to help the Varden in their quest to depose the evil king. He did it so skilfully that it would be difficult for any magic-user except for the elves and Saphira, who was bound to him so tightly she would notice immediately the faint signature of his touch, to determine which were the captain's own thoughts and which one had been implanted. With one slight flourish, he made it so that the compulsion would grow from nothing over time until she would be unable to do anything _but _help them. He was conflicted, but he knew that it was for the best.

They slowly made their way back down the tent, Eragon muttering the odd spell to aid the healing of some of the injuries and illnesses. He did not have the stomach for more suffering that he could easily prevent and could feel a compulsion to get out and just do something physical, whether it be sparring with one of the elves or going down to the archery butts to lose himself in the endless thud of arrow after arrow hitting the target. He would have welcomed the cliff that he had got stuck on outside Teirm, back when he was Eragon, Son of None, and travelling with Brom.

_Saphira, _he called out to her, thinking that flying could help with the restlessness that he felt, _I, I need to fly with you._ He tried to put how he was feeling into words, but fell short instead pouring a torrent of pictures and feelings into their link. His only response was the feeling air swooshing past his temporary wings as Saphira leapt into the sky above the cloth-hides-camp to join the partner-of-her-heart-and-soul, sending him the uplifting feeling of wind rushing over her scales and around her head.

As he came back to himself, a smile flickered briefly around his lips. He could always trust Saphira to do what he really needed. The boundless love they shared for each other meant that they often knew what the other needed before they themselves knew.

"Saphira will be here soon," he said. "I doubt that we shall see each other until late after noon has passed, so I hope that you will enjoy the tour that you are to be given of the camp."

Nasuada raised her eyebrow in a silent question and Eragon inclined his head in a way that he had caught off Oromis, a shallow, birdlike dip, to indicate that he had done his set task.

_**I know that I'm painting Nasuada as the bad guy. I really do admire her, but Manipulative!Nasuada is so easy to write! Can't you just see her asking Eragon to take advantage of another people's weakness to get them to help the cause? Or am I the only one?**_

_**And I'm really, truly sorry for making you all wait soooooo long for this update, and then not making it very long, but inspiration is a cruel thing, coming and going like – hold on a moment! Am I getting (shock, horror, disaster!) **_**POETIC**_**? I hope not….**_


	4. Chapter 4

Heya, all my lovely readers!

*email voice*  
_"You have **2** new messages."_

_1) My exams are finally OVER! *throws a party* So that means I can finally return to writing my stuff and you can hopefully look forwards to reading some new stuff :)_

_2) I love you all, oh great reviewers and I beg for more attention and more reviews (reviews make me happy and when I'm happy I write more, so you're just doing yourselves a favour if you review)_

So keep reading, keep reviewing and I love you all :)

_Blue_


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